Even after months things she said keep floating around in my head. Her openness about how God dealt with her pride is brutally honest and a tremendous blessing. Remember, this lady saw amazing revival, yet she herself had to die to pride. Praise the Lord that he is absolutely resolved to purify us, his bride.
If I understand her right the two following accounts are one and the same incident.
Account 1 -
After building a 100-bed hospital and maternity complex, developing a training school for national paramedical workers, caring for a growing number of regional clinics and health centers, the day came, when on a medical ward round in the hospital, I got mad with a patient and let rip with a fluency in Swahili rarely surpassed. As we left the ward to cross the courtyard, my African assistant quietly put his hand on my arm and rebuked me."Doctor," he said, "I don't think Jesus would have spoken like that."I'm sure he wouldn't, but it wasn't easy to take from student from the forest land. We returned to the ward, I apologized, and John, my assistant, preached the gospel.This was merely a symptom of my state of heart. Shortly afterwards my African colleagues made it possible for me to go away for a ten-day break. I went to our local pastor's home, basically that I might sort myself out with God. Eventually, after three miserable days, Pastor Ndugu came to my help."Helen," he said quietly and patiently, "why can't you forget for one minute that you are white?"It was the first of many appalling shocks as he opened up to me something of my heart condition, including this race prejudice. Subconsciously, I didn't really believe that an African could be as good a Christian as I was or could know Jesus just as I did. Slowly Pastor Ndugu led me back to the cross to a new level of identification, for a new cleansing from this racial pride and many other subtle forms of pride that he made me recognize and face up to, and then for a new filling with Calvary love.When I returned to our hospital village, I was met by a group of my African team, and before I could, begin to explain, one burst out, "Hallelujah!" I looked at him astonished. "Oh," he said, "you don't need to say anything, your face tells us. We've been praying for you for four years!" And I had gone out to them as their missionary. The first major cost was to my pride, but from then on, I entered into a new heart identity, not only with our Lord Jesus, but also with my African friends and co-workers.I spent a long weekend crying out to God. There was little of victory in my life. I was frustrated, hurt and empty, knowing the right answers but getting nowhere.On the Saturday night I went to one of the pastors and his wife and said, "Please help me!" His response was clear although he was very gentle - "We can see so much Helen and we can't see Jesus. Everything revolves around your vision, your work, what you will do."I knew he was right. That was all he said, but somehow Jesus was there. I spent the following ten days in the presence of the Lord, broken. It was wonderful.You can't live forever on the mountain top. You have to come down into the valley to do the work. You must never look back on the blessing - you must always look on. We contain the treasure of the Lord Jesus. It doesn't matter about the beautiful thin china ware or the cracked old earthen pot - what matters is the treasure within. The key thing is that God and God alone is glorified.
